I’m running

behind me only the dust remains
and the pathways wherethrough the spiders wandered their prey

since I was born
I’m looking only forward
never backwards

I sweep away with a spittle
in shadow
a gene mutation

until you manage to write about me
solely one word
you’ll have already been dead

sometimes I have a déjŕ-vu
but I keep on going

I’m a stray cur
on a mountain of bones

you are I